


Solace

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: Being held, loved, desired like this...never in a million years had he imagined it would have felt like this, never had he thought it could have happened to him. And yet, here he was, unable to tear himself away from the embrace.





	

Hands on hot skin, hands in hair and their lips touching and kissing and their teeth stained with wine and blood. There was no difference, it was the same colour, after all. Moans and whimpers rose into the silent air, neither of them knowing or wanting to guess whose were which. Russet curls across off-white pillows, manicured nails digging into pale skin, dark hair shining almost blue in the candlelight... This. All of this. Montparnasse wanted this, he needed this. Again and again, he needed all of this. His head was spinning with the sheer intoxication of the moment. Being held, loved, desired like this...never in a million years had he imagined it would have felt like this, never had he thought it could have happened to him. And yet, here he was, unable to tear himself away from the embrace. 

He was ice. Darkness. Secret acts done in secret ways. He was bloody hands and bloody ideas. He had never considered another person as anything other that prey or threat. But the poet, the nightingale, the flame-haired child with his mismatched eyes...he was light, warmth, words as soft as roses or silk, hands that didn't hit but caressed each and every part of him with love.

How often had they come together this night? Three, four...ten? He didn't know, he wasn't counting. But he wasn't the only one who wanted more, and more and more, and Jehan's insistance was plain. And how could anyone imagine saying no to those eyes? They haunted his days and nights, silent and gorgeous. And at times, times like these, they were pleading for something, something Montparnasse was more than willing to give.

The first time had been a surprise, especially to him. The willful giving of everything, submitting to another without hesitation or fear, those were things he could never have believed possible. But, as with many things, Jehan had shown him another side. With a smile, the tender, true, warm smile he showed only to the poet, Montparnasse rolled onto his stomach, shivering as he felt fingers run down his spine. Anticipation was the sweetest of tortures in such a situation, and he couldn't stop a slight breathless moan as Jehan started to kiss his way over his shoulders, stopping at each small scar or mark.

After long, long seconds of such touching, Montparnasse gave another shudder and lifted his hips, feeling a hand slip under him. Adventurous and exploring, even if they'd long passed the point of knowing each-other by heart. And there, just there, the slightest tinge of pain rapidly rushed aside by what came after, and finally, Jehan was right next to him, inside of him. 

He was pushing, softly, slowly at first, then with each small signal, each tiny noise or intake of breath, he moved further in. And it was as amazing as the first time, to feel Montparnasse clench around him, to see him completely abandoned and vulnerable, hands gripping the sheets, and to hear him moan his name over and over again.  
Is that what he had wanted...? Is that what he had wanted all along, to own the darkness and the danger and the fear and the control, to have it all? Sometimes his own desires were such a mystery, even to himself. But Montparnasse...his 'Parnasse had never seemed to bother with the whys and the hows. 'Parnasse had just smiled and pulled him into the bed.

For someone as reserved and as rightly paranoid as the assassin was, Jehan had been delighted to coax a semblant of honesty. And after the honesty had come the desire, and everything had tumbled from there. 

*

A louder moan than before and Jehan came back to the present, one hand still holding Monparnasse's hip and the other running through his hair. Montparnasse was on his knees, head thrown back and his mouth open. His lipstick had worn away since the beginning of the night, but there were still some crimson smudges on the side of his lips and Jehan could almost reach far enough to kiss them away. Instead he concentrated on the sounds of throaty pleasure, the feel of sweat-slicked skin under his fingers, that vein that throbbed just enough to stand out on the assassin's neck... It was all a visual poem of paradise, even if it was only his own. Montparnasse was still a very great mystery, no matter how much had been said between them. Although to be fair, at this moment, there was no mystery.  
With a smile, Jehan grasped Montparnasse's member and started to stroke him, his hand already slipping with the amount of precum. Oh his 'Parnasse was so gorgeous, throbbing and trembling down on his knees...   
\- Beg me...?  
\- J...Jehan...please...  
\- Beg me. Let me hear you.  
\- ...please...harder...let me...come...!

Montparnasse nearly buckled, his knees giving way as Jehan thrust harder into him. He was so hot, so close to orgasm, but his poet didn't want to let him off so easily, he never did. And he couldn't find release, not with Jehan's hand wrapped around him like that, refusing him. So he squirmed and begged and threw his head back, pleading and repeating Jehan's name over and over again. He was burning up, his head was spinning, he only needed a small thing to tip him finally over the edge...so when Jehan released his hand and nibbled at his neck, just on that one quivering vein, Montparnasse nearly shouted, his orgasm ripping itself out of him.

*

It took a small moment for him to come to his senses and when he did, it was to open his eyes and give a long, cat-like smile, getting hold of one of those long russet curls and wrapping it around his fingers.   
\- Are you sated, my little bird?   
\- For now, but I cannot say for how long. Having you is such a miraculous sensation, I can barely believe it. It is like breathing for the first time.  
\- Then I await the next time you feel choked. And I hope it won't take too long.

It didn't.


End file.
